


A Metaphor in Three Parts

by fromthegutter



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, No happy end, One-Shot, Red String, Red String of Fate, SniperSpy, commitment issues, no beta sorry for typos lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthegutter/pseuds/fromthegutter
Summary: Sniper and Spy tiptoe around their cross faction relationship, red string of fate AU
Relationships: BLU Spy/RED Sniper, Sniper & Spy (Team Fortress 2), Sniper/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	A Metaphor in Three Parts

At first it was just a small nuisance—funny, useful even. They reckon it was something set up by the director to...discourage them from doing what they do. The more confusing thing is that it didn’t take very long at all. A few cease-fire words in passing, to full blown conversations, to actual desire for each other’s presence, to this. Sniper couldn’t have guessed that the result of Spy, clad in his blue pinstripe suit marking him of the opposite faction, waltzing into his Sniper’s nest during lulls in the onslaught of a mission—or occasionally during heavy fire, says it’s more inconspicuous—just to chat of all things, would’ve resulted in anything short of a few shots to the face. No, it didn’t take long at all, and like most things of any importance, it happens without you noticing, at least until it’s too late. 

“Oh that’s right ugly, your man alright?”

“Hm?” Spy crouches down next to Sniper, who moves his rifle so that Spy can peer down the scope at the red stain Soldier has made of himself against a distant building, “oh, that is not so strange, it does help him get around quite quickly—to launch himself around the field like that. So long as the good doctor is around to pick up the pieces.” He laughs shortly, turning around to sit against the wall again, out of sight from the window. 

“I dunno, seems like there’s better, quicker ways to get around that involve less explosions or broken bones,” Sniper speaks slowly as he scans the field once more, and when he decides the armistice has fully set in, sets his rifle down and sits on the other side of the window, facing the man taking a slow drag off their cigarette while watching him. 

“But of course you can say that, your legs are like stilts, you can clear this town in two, maybe three strides.”

“What?” Sniper extends his legs out in front of him, kicking his friend lightly as he does “Stilts? You reckon these are what I meant? Did you hear that when I put my leg out just now? It sounded like someone snapping twigs. No, mate you’ve just gotta learn your way around.”

“And with haste I imagine, it is hard for a man on stilts to go unnoticed for so long.”

“Christ,” Sniper grins and scrubs a hand over his face. 

They had fallen into easy banter these days. The mistrust and feigned vicious hatred had since faded. Well, as much as it can for an old mercenary. Spy’s back was against a wall and Sniper had given himself a clear path to the exit. But it had become more habit than anything else. Because as they talked and laughed softly it was getting harder and harder to remember to keep their guard up. (You ever take a piss near someone whose literal job is to stab people in the back while they’re vulnerable?) It was dusk out before they had both been beckoned back to their respective bases. Sniper stood up first and put his hand out to help Spy up, and simultaneously it dawned on both of them that they’d never actually touched before. They’d bumped into each other, whacked shoulders, thrown punches, kicked the other to deride them, but not purposefully, or to be kind. They shook it off though; it’s a hand up is all. Not something to think too hard about. Maybe it would be if they were enemies. But that’s not what they are anymore, is it? And they don’t show it, but in the back of their minds it felt like a big deal—Sniper helping Spy up. For a split second Spy thought he should knife his jugular out of compulsion. But he just stands, and dusts himself off, and walks off as Sniper tips his hat and waits to leave a few minutes after. 

At first it’s a small nuisance. Engie looks at him funny as he tugs his arm forward as if it’s being held back. Sniper looks down at his hand and it’s the strangest thing. A red string knotted around his little finger. He fusses with the knot for only a few seconds before giving up and following the string dragging behind him, out the door, and seemingly to the other side of town. He grabs his rifle and uses his scope to follow the string. But it’s thin, and hard to see, and directly across town from him, facing him, is Spy. Too far away to make out his expression, he blinks out of sight, invisible after a few moments. 

“Bugger,” he thinks as he puts up his rifle and whips out his machete to make short work of the anomaly that’s attached itself to his hand when he wasn’t paying attention. But Pyro stops him short, exclaiming something and putting his rubber gloved hands over Sniper’s. Engie shoots up, too, “what the hell are you doin’, man? If there’s somethin’ a matter with your hand, get the doc to check it out, Christ, Sniper!” 

“I’m not trying to chop my hand off, mate,” he pulls himself out of Pyro’s grip, “I’m just trying to get this weird thread off it, guess I got caught on something, somehow.”

The engineer steps forward, inspecting his friend, “uh, pal, the only thread you got loose is your brain unraveling right about now I reckon.”

Sniper throws his hand up in Engie’s face, “I mean this!” 

He pulls his goggles up to his forehead, looks from Sniper to his hand, and back. He taps Sniper’s wrist watch in front of him, “look at the time, best be headed out for the night, pal.” 

“You can’t see it?”

“No, it’s definitely after 6, Sniper. Go home.”

“Pyro!” Sniper whips around, exasperated, “you see the string on me pinky, right?”

Pyro shrugs and pats Sniper’s cheek before turning to follow the engineer. 

—-

They can’t see it. So, what is it? At first it’s funny. The next time he runs into Spy it’s like they can’t miss each other. Trying to focus on their respective jobs, but it doesn’t take long for them to realize that they’re on the other end of each other’s strings. Sniper pulls Spy into a nearby building and crowds him against a wall as a few shots fly in through a busted window, they crouch with their heads together. 

“What the fuck is this, bushman?” He lifts his hand and huffs, flustered. 

“Fuck if I know, I was gonna ask you, the Spy.”

“You are dense, there is nothing in espionage that says physically tying yourself to your enemy is an effective way to kill them!” 

“So you are trying to kill me!”

“If I was, your throat would already be cut, mon amie. Do you really not know what this is?” 

Another bullet flies through and Sniper instinctively shifts a bit to cover the spy in front of him. The bullet lands on the opposite side of the room and he pulls away, frustration apparent in his face, until it slowly fades when he sees how serious Spy is. “No. And you don’t either, huh?” 

“I am afraid not.”

The string stretches. They’re able to get away from each other and no one seems to notice whatever hangs between them. This invisible force between two people. But when they’re running a few yards away from each other, with some third party mercs in between them, they both hang their hands low, and tug the thread taught, flipping them into the dirt and into one of Demoman’s red glowing mines. They close the distance between each other and take cover, breathlessly laughing. 

For a while it’s good. Often, they discuss how it could have happened in Sniper’s nest, or back in his van, or in Spy’s obscure motel room of the week. They forget what the inciting incident could have been and get off topic more than they make progress in figuring out why they’re bound to each other like this. No one notices the red connecting line through the battlefield unless they want them to. They can even tell that, while they distance themselves on the field, if they look hard enough they’re always in each other’s line of sight. They assume it’s the string’s doing. They don’t mean for it to happen, of course. And it makes it impossible for either one to sneak up on the other. But it’s a nice opportunity to be petty, too. And more than once Sniper has tugged a little too hard as Spy is about to skewer one of his red adorned teammates. More than once Spy has tried to fudge Sniper’s perfectly lined up shot against a blue mercenary by doing the same. Though pretty quickly Sniper adapted, and kept making the shots anyways. At which Spy tried not to laugh or grin. Because that just wouldn’t be appropriate. Just like it wouldn’t be appropriate to follow the tug against your hand leading you down corridors you don’t know as a Pyro is about to burn you to a crisp. It could be a trap, afterall. It’s not though. Instead of a trap is two arms pulling him around a corner and into some new hideaway. “How do you keep finding these places?” 

“Told ya it’s worth it to explore and learn your surroundings.”

“Like a rat scurrying through ventilation shafts.”

“I’m gonna pretend that what you really said was ‘thank you for saving my arse again Sniper, you’re brilliant’.”

“But of course.”

—-

At first it’s useful. But then it begins to chafe. Then it snags on things you didn’t mean it to. Sometimes it makes the dance between the Sniper and Spy harder, and more complicated than before. Running into each other, pulling and tugging and accidentally irritating the other. It’s a clumsy act. Tripping over one another. Trying not to step on each other’s toes, and failing. Or the nagging pull at night. Once, Sniper fell asleep watching a meteroshower on top of his camper and woke up to being pulled off and tumbling to the ground. Sometimes Sniper pulls too hard, too. Spilt wine and razor nicks abound. 

Spy laments. This was probably the director’s doing, afterall. Whatever was happening should stop, and she sought to show them why. Gentler than either one would have thought. He thinks he would have preferred a firing squad. 

“You can’t be serious, we don’t understand this enough yet, what if you really screw something up? What if you hurt yourself?” Sniper unravels. 

“I’m cutting this damn thread now, Mundy,” Spy twirls his butterfly knife open and poises it against the stark red line. 

“What if you hurt me? What if we both get hurt?”

“It is a risk I am going to have to take,” Spy side eyes the exit, there’s shouting and gun fire and chaos and he knows he can’t drag Sniper along anymore. It feels unfair, and selfish. He tells himself it’s a service to them both, “If I can sever this nuisance right here, then I will not hesitate.”

“SNIPER! In the lookout!” A distant voice shouts, and they both duck out of sight.

“Don’t do this, not yet, we can work something out, I think. At least talk to Medic or Pauling or something—“ Sniper’s gaze shift between the string and Spy’s eyes. They look gray, why do they look gray, aren’t they blue, aren’t they—

Snap. 

The thread breaks on Spy’s end. And he’s invisible by the time the string has untied itself and slipped to the ground.

Heavy is coming up the stairs to this stupid room with its one exit. 

Sniper’s stomach drops. His blood goes cold, and before he can fully panic, a knife is slid into his back. 

It must have punctured a lung, he thinks, judging by the way it takes his breath away.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey thanks for reading! Unsure about continuing. But this is fine as a one off for now.


End file.
